


23 Days

by Gwyn_Paige



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Diary/Journal, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Romance, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwyn_Paige/pseuds/Gwyn_Paige
Summary: Martin keeps a journal during his and Jon's time in the safehouse. Mostly, he writes about Jon.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 60
Kudos: 193
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	23 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Boy howdy, I sure hope people still like safehouse fics in the month of our Lord July 2020. This was originally just meant to be a single short scene, but it kind of got away from me and turned into a full-blown fic. Hope y'all enjoy!

Day 1

Well, here we are. Home sweet home. The train brought us into town around noon, and then it was a mile hike up here to the safehouse. It’s a good thing we packed light. Jon and I are both a bit out of shape, apparently. We were all sweaty by the time we got to the cabin, even if it’s much cooler up north than in London this time of year.

I figure however long we’re here for, there won’t be much to do in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere. Daisy kept some paperbacks and I think I saw some ancient board games in a kitchen cupboard, but there’s no wi-fi and it’s not like the Scottish Highlands have much in the way of entertainment. Unless you count farming and sheep-raising, which I guess the locals must.

For the two of us, though, there’s just Parcheesi.

That’s why I bought this Moleskine back at the train station. It’s been ages since I kept a journal, and I figure this is the best opportunity I’ll have for a while to get back into the habit. Not sure what I’ll have to write about, to be honest, but who knows. With Jon here, maybe things will get interesting.

Not that I’m planning on anything getting interesting, of course. Jon’s—okay, I was going to say that Jon’s just a friend, but part of journal writing is being honest with yourself. So, if I’m honest, I’m not sure where I stand with Jon right now. Obviously it’s been an intense couple of days for both of us. It’s been an intense couple of years. We haven’t really had the chance to talk about any of it yet. The train ride up here was quiet. I didn’t much feel like talking and I don’t think Jon did either. He did hold my hand the entire time, though, and we both napped on each other’s shoulders at one point or another. I suppose those are things that friends do, in extenuating circumstances. But like I said, I’m not entirely sure. That’s a conversation we’re going to have to have at some point.

Speaking of Jon, he seems like he’s doing alright. Settled. Relaxed. We spent the afternoon opening up the cabin, so to speak, sort of dusting off cobwebs and opening windows and putting new sheets on the bed, that sort of thing. And the whole time, Jon was chatting and making jokes, almost like he was cheerful. I don’t think I’ve seen a cheerful Jon in years, so that was nice. A bit strange, but nice.

It’s only been about 6 hours since we arrived, but I do like this place. The cabin itself is pretty sparse, but it’s cosy enough, and the surrounding countryside is absolutely beautiful. I’m looking forward to taking walks into town for supplies, which we’ll have to do sometime tomorrow. I don’t think the sandwiches we bought on the train will keep much longer.

I just realized I keep writing “we.” As though Jon and I will be doing everything together just because we’re sharing the cabin. Which I suppose we will, most of the time. There’s only one kitchen, one bathroom, one sofa . . . we’ll have to share everything. The idea doesn’t worry me nearly as much as it probably should. More than anything it feels comfortable. I don’t know. It could be a disaster. Maybe we’ll just spend the whole time stepping on each other’s toes and pissing each other off.

But maybe it’ll be nice. Maybe the two of us can make it work, together, if we try. I’m going to try, at least. And call me an optimist, but I have a feeling Jon will, too. Stranger things have happened.

Day 2

Oh, god, I’d forgotten there was only one bed in this place.

I’m writing this first thing in the morning. Jon isn’t up yet, and I need to get this out on paper, since it was too late when we went to bed last night.

When we went to bed. Together. In the same one. Why has my life become a scene from the most bizarre and disturbing romance novel ever written.

I suppose it could have been a lot more awkward. Jon and I were both sort of exhausted from traveling and cleaning the house, so we both knocked out pretty quickly. Jon fell asleep before me, though, and there were a few minutes when I considered getting up and sleeping on the sofa instead, just so there wouldn’t be that weird awkwardness in the morning. I guess I must have fallen asleep before deciding.

It ended up fine, of course, since I woke up before Jon anyway, and now I’m at the kitchen table with a nice steaming mug of English Breakfast that I found in a cupboard. But I know I’m going to have to deal with it again tonight, and the next night, and the next . . .

Ugh. It’s not that I even have a problem with it, I mean, I know how I feel about Jon. The question is how he feels about me, and this whole situation. Sharing a bed, sharing a house. Oh, god. It’s all starting to really hit me now, the position we’ve found ourselves in.

We are going to have that conversation. Soon.

Anyway. In less dramatic news, morning in the Highlands is absolutely beautiful. I’m looking out through the kitchen window right now and it honestly looks like a painting. The rolling green hills, dotted with clouds of morning mist that glow with the rising sun . . . it’s an artist’s dream. I’m definitely going to be writing a few verses about it while I’m here. That’s going in my other notebook meant just for poetry, though, so you won’t see any of it here. Bad luck to put your poetry with your personal journals, or so I’ve been told.

Day 3

We made the trip into town yesterday for groceries and supplies. The walk was just as beautiful as I’d hoped. It’s so different from London here. I mean, that’s obvious, but even the air is different here. It’s cleaner and colder and it feels good just to breathe it in. You feel more alive here, out in the countryside. It’s probably got something to do with all the nature and lack of pollution, but there’s something a bit magical about it, too. Like anything’s possible. And not just evil-fear-entities possible. It feels like good things are possible too. Like around any moss-covered wall you could find something beautiful.

And I suppose we did find something beautiful yesterday, in a way. We passed by a farm on our way into town and saw some Highland cows! You know, the ones with bushy orange fur and bangs that cover their eyes. There were loads of them, out grazing, and Jon and I were able to pet one that was hanging out near the fence. That was the first time I’ve ever pet a real cow, and let me tell you, they’re as soft as they look. It was like petting a huge, much sturdier dog. It was docile with us, but you could tell that cow could pack a punch if it wanted. Or a kick, I suppose. Those hooves looked pretty hefty.

The town itself is just like you’d expect a small town in the Highlands to look. Stone buildings, a few locals, lots of livestock wandering around. There’s one grocer’s for the whole town, and that’s where we stocked up. Jon’s a decent cook, apparently (more on that later), so I let him handle the food while I grabbed supplies.

We ended up buying a ton of stuff between the two of us, I think because we were both still in survival mode. I was, at least. So we had to carry several heavy grocery bags back to the safehouse, which is apparently only a mile walk, which I simply don’t believe after today. No way a mile goes that slowly, I don’t care how many bags you’re carrying. (We did see more Highland cows on the way back, but we weren’t in the mood to stop and pet them again.)

We barely had the energy to put away all the perishables into the fridge before we both collapsed on the sofa. We just sort of vegged out there for a while, leaning against each other, not wanting to move. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but it wasn’t bad, either. Jon’s thin and a bit pokey, but his hair is really soft and he’s a warm, solid figure to lean against, especially in those cardigans he wears.

I must have nodded off at some point, and when I woke up again, Jon was still sitting next to me, awake, holding my hand like he had on the train. He was holding it with his burned hand, which has an interesting texture to it that actually felt really nice. It’s a bit like those bumps you get when there are air bubbles in laminated paper. Jon was squeezing my hand a bit, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel present. Like he was assuring himself I was there, or assuring me that he was there.

That’s probably just wishful thinking, though. I mean, he thought I was asleep. And I might have faked being asleep for a bit longer than necessary.

He smiled at me when I did properly wake up, though. And he let go of my hand, but not in a self-conscious way. He just seemed sort of at peace, in that moment. Like holding hands during naps was just something the two of us did, now. And I mean, if that’s really what Jon thinks, he’ll get no complaints from me.

Jon made dinner after that. I said I’d talk about the cooking thing, so here it is. Yesterday morning when we were headed to town, Jon offered to buy the groceries because he is, and I quote, “a pretty decent cook when I can find the time for it.”

I’ll cut the tension now: Jon’s a bloody excellent cook. I know I have a limited repertoire but bloody hell, Jon! He managed to turn a handful of vegetables and spices into the best curry I think I’ve ever eaten. That includes the curry takeaway in London. I have no idea why or how he’s been hiding this light under a bushel this whole time, or how he learned to cook like an angel. All I know is that he’d better keep the leftovers somewhere high up where I can’t reach, otherwise he’s going to need to make another batch pretty soon.

The most infuriating part is that he had the audacity to be modest about it. As though I’m the first one to ever compliment his food, which I refuse to believe. That bloody, lovely man. Ugh.

Day 5

We didn’t have that conversation today, not exactly, but we did have a bit of a moment.

It started when I was heating up some of the leftover curry for lunch (even microwaved it’s still delicious, which is honestly just unfair) and mentioned to Jon I might eat it out on the porch. It was actually sunny today, and warm enough that you’d be comfortable just sitting outside in it. Jon said okay, and then he started reheating his lunch too. I didn’t think anything of it and I took my bowl outside.

The porch out back of the cabin does have a couple chairs, but they’re wooden and ancient, and they look like you could disintegrate them by staring at them too hard. So instead I just sat on the edge of the porch and ate my lunch as I stared out at those gorgeous green hills.

A couple minutes later, as I was eating, Jon came out and sat down next to me. Right next to me. There were a handful of inches between us, maybe. He was eating curry out of his own bowl and didn’t really seem to realize how weird it was that he’d followed me out here.

I didn’t want to say anything. I figured it would scare him off, and I really didn’t mind. It was just odd. And then I started to realize that every meal we’ve had at the cabin so far, even those pitiful train sandwiches, we’ve sat together and shared. Sure, it’s only been a few days, but it’s been so consistent for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We’ve even shared tea at the same time, at the same table.

The thought surprised me, and then I was surprised that it surprised me. Because two people sharing meals while living together isn’t all that strange, right? But for some reason it struck me that Jon and I could have that. Honestly, I hate to admit it, but it’s probably a side effect of being in the Lonely for so long. And even before all of that, I’d been living alone for years now. And before that, there was just me and mum, which, yeah. I guess sharing meals with someone just isn’t something I’m used to.

I think it’s something I could definitely get used to, though. Jon and I just sitting together and eating, staring out at the fluffy midday clouds rolling over the hills, not having to say anything or do anything or be anything except there. With each other. That was a nice moment.

And then, after we were done eating and had set our bowls aside, just as I was thinking about getting up, Jon reached over and took my hand. He moved slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him, but I didn’t. I just let him take my hand in his. He held it in both his hands, actually, folding them around it, and I curled my fingers around his. This whole time I was looking right at his face, but he was staring down at our hands woven together. There was this look on his face that was so full of—I think the best word for it would be care. Jon’s eyes are normally so bright and intense, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them look so gentle as they did then.

I reached over with my other hand and placed it on top of his, so all 4 of our hands were piled up together. It was a bit awkward, to be honest, but I don’t think either of us noticed or cared at the time. That’s when Jon looked up at me, and we locked eyes for a moment. I can’t help thinking that in a movie, that would have been the big first kiss scene. Instead, Jon just smiled at me, and I smiled at him, and honestly that was way better than a kiss would have been.

I’m still intending to have that conversation with him, but I think I’ll sleep a little easier tonight. Even if we are still sharing the same bed.

Which, to be honest, hasn’t been nearly as bad as I thought it would be. We keep to our own sides, and neither of us snores. I’m always up before Jon, who contrary to popular belief is very much not a morning person. The past couple of mornings I’ve fried up some eggs which usually gets him out of bed. He’s all sleepy and soft when he gets up, it’s really adorable. It takes a mug of tea before he really starts to wake up, but until then all his defenses are down. A guy could get used to that.

Day 8

It rained today. It was absolutely pouring out. Water was coming down in sheets. It was the kind of rain you can only get when you’re not surrounded by other buildings and roofs, where the sky just empties directly onto you and your little log cabin.

Jon and I had nowhere to be, of course, so it suited us just fine. I put a kettle on and Jon lit a fire. Did I mention the safehouse has a fireplace? It does, a small one made out of stone, with a stack of dry firewood Daisy must have chopped ages ago, and today we finally put it to good use.

I stretched out on the sofa with my tea and a book, and at first Jon sat and read at the kitchen table. I guess I got sort of absorbed in the book (it was a Poirot mystery I hadn’t read yet, which was an amazing find) because suddenly I looked up and Jon was standing over me, asking if he could join me on the sofa. I said of course, don’t let me hog it.

I was going to move my legs out of the way so he could sit across from me, but before I could move Jon just climbed onto the sofa and laid down on top of me, with his head in my lap. Which I was not prepared for in the slightest. I guess he could tell I was having a lot of thoughts on the matter because he got all worried and asked if this was okay. I said yes. Very, very quickly. I mean, it was Jon lying in my lap. The word no didn’t even cross my mind.

We just lay like that, for a while, both of us reading. It was lovely, with the sound of the rain outside and the warm fire in the corner and Jon in my lap. That man is all elbows and knees but he’s actually very comfortable to have lying on top of you, as it turns out. At one point, Jon set his book down (it was something sci-fi, I think, I couldn’t see the title) and sort of rolled on his side, facing the back of the sofa. His face was sort of tucked in the crook of my arm, and his arms were curled up against my side. It was so intimate and sweet, and I know it sounds self-centered, but it was almost like he was trying to bury himself against me. It sounds so silly to write it out like that, but that’s how it felt.

We stayed like that for most of the afternoon. I don’t think either of us moved for hours except when I had to turn a page. And at one point I put my book away too, because I realized I was just rereading the same sentence over and over. After that, we just lay there, breathing together and listening to the rain. I don’t think either of us napped, even though I could see that Jon’s eyes were closed. And I could see that he was smiling this small, beautiful little smile. He looked more peaceful and relaxed than I think I’ve ever seen him.

At some point, hours and hours after he’d climbed into my lap, Jon said my name, softly, like a question. Yes Jon, I said. We should talk, he said, in the same soft tone. And I realized in that moment that we were finally about to have The Conversation. I thought I’d be nervous, but for some reason I wasn’t nervous at all.

So we talked. It must have been for about half an hour. We didn’t move positions, we didn’t raise our voices. There was this calmness that overcame us, maybe because of the rain, or our proximity, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, we had probably the calmest discussion any two people have ever had about their relationship.

And at the end of it, we decided we were going to be together, romantically. I know that isn’t the most glamorous way of putting it, but I don’t think you can call what we’re doing dating. It feels both bigger and smaller than that. I mean, we’re already living together, but we’ve also got a lot of catching up to do.

I feel really good about the whole thing, though. It just feels right, like fitting the right piece into a jigsaw puzzle. I think if we had gotten together a year ago, or two years ago even, I wouldn’t have felt so sure about it. I know how I can be, I’d probably just have gotten all in my head about it and made myself an anxious mess. But now, the two of us where we are, after everything that’s happened, it feels so steady and certain. Like there’s a solid foundation beneath us.

And Jon just looked so, so happy. He’s really very beautiful, although I don’t think a lot of people take the time to notice it. You have to really look to be able to see it, and it’s so worth it, for that beauty. But when he looks as happy as he looked today . . . I mean, I’m not complaining. I’d rather not share him with anyone. But I’d challenge anyone to see what I saw of him today and not fall in love.

Day 9

Jon kissed me today. I have no idea where it came from. There was nothing dramatic to set it off. I’m not being self-deprecating when I say that I wasn’t being particularly kissable at the time. We were just sitting on the sofa together (on opposite sides, this time), both of us reading, and suddenly he just looked up, out of nowhere, and asked if he could kiss me.

He asked in a very Jon-ish way. “May I kiss you,” he said, all polite and gentlemanly. May I. Like how they taught us in primary school. Oh, Jon.

I’ll give you three guesses as to what my answer was. Jon told me that he doesn’t like kissing on the lips, but if it was alright he’d like to kiss me on the cheek. I said sure. I wasn’t being very smooth about the whole thing, but can you really blame me? And then Jon leaned forward and he kissed me, on my left cheek. Just like that.

I made sure to close my eyes. It was over so quickly but I still remember everything, hours later. His lips were chapped and dry, and there was a bit of scratching from his stubble, and I could feel the warm breath from his nose. He must have closed his eyes too, because I could feel his eyelashes move against my temple, like little insect wings.

He was so gentle. There wasn’t any pressure from his lips, as though he was holding something back. It seemed like he was trying to be cautious, like I might pull away. Which I wouldn’t have, of course. But he was so gentle anyway, and so sweet about it.

Maybe it’s not what I’d have fantasized about a couple years back, but, well. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it. Fantasies are just fantasies. Reality is almost always better, or at least more interesting.

Jon kissed me today. That’s a reality. It was wonderful. That’s a reality, too. And hey, wouldn’t you know, I kissed him back. After he pulled away I could tell he was waiting for something, and Martin K. Blackwood is nothing if not an opportunist. So I kissed him on the cheek, too.

I love Jon’s smiles, when he has them to give. I got the loveliest one from him today.

Day 11

Slow day today. It’s late afternoon and I’m so bored I’m writing in my journal about how bored I am.

I did get some poetry done this morning. I was up early again and the sunrise was calling to me, so I took out my other notebook and jotted down some lines. They weren’t half bad, if I do say so myself.

I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve written poetry since I started working for you-know-who. I just didn’t feel inspired at all during those months. Nothing in particular made me want to write.

The Lonely, the way it works, it cuts you off from everyone around you. But it also cuts you off from yourself, in a way. It’s like everything goes foggy, even inside your own head. You don’t feel like yourself, and then you don’t want to feel like yourself, and then you start to forget what you’re even like. It makes it so much easier to stop worrying about all the messy, complicated thoughts and feelings inside your head. You lose bits of yourself, one by one, and you don’t care anymore.

I guess writing was something I lost, somewhere in there. Journaling has helped get it back, obviously. But it felt really good to write some poetry again today.

Day 12

I’m starting to regret kissing Jon. It’s only encouraged him. He keeps planting kisses on me and it’s becoming a terrible distraction. Nearly made me over-steep the tea this morning. Absolutely shameless.

I haven’t told him to stop, of course. I’ll let him get one more in before I say something. Well, maybe two more. Or 3. Or 7.

In all seriousness, it’s been lovely. I’ve never been with someone who wasn’t into mouth kisses, and it’s been a learning experience. I never knew that kisses could be so varied. Like, you’d think that your only other options would be the cheeks, the forehead, maybe the hands, right? Wrong. Jon’s kissed all those places, sure, but he’s also kissed my collarbone, the back of my neck, the inside of my wrist, my stomach (we were lying on the sofa, it wasn’t anything like that), and even my eyelids, once. That one was more romantic than I think I’d like to admit.

Every time he comes up with somewhere new, it surprises me. I’m trying to get him back, though. I kissed him on the shoulder today, which is not coincidentally about as high as I can reach without stretching up on my toes. I think that managed to surprise him, just a bit. He gave me this look that I’ve been seeing from him more and more often these days, like he’s got something important to say but he’s too happy to actually say it. Which I realize is kind of weird, but that’s Jon for you, I suppose.

We had to make another trip into town today for more groceries. We made sure not to overload ourselves this time, so the walk back was a lot easier. Mostly we just grabbed staples, milk and eggs and things like that. I made sure to get a bunch more tea. Daisy’s stock is fine in a pinch, but I prefer some very specific blends. Jon picked out some more spices that I guess he forgot last time, and he also bought yeast. He said he’s going to bake us some bread, which sounds lovely. I told him that I don’t think I’ve ever actually had homemade bread before, so I was looking forward to trying it. He seemed surprised, but I could tell he was trying to hide it, like he didn’t want to make me feel bad for not having a mum who baked bread for me as a kid or something. Which was sweet of him, but really, it’s only bread, and there’s a first time for everything.

You’ll be happy to know that we did see more cows on the way to and from town, and we made sure to pet them. The scenery was gorgeous, as usual.

I don’t know how long we’re planning on staying here, or how long we’ll be able to. But if I’m honest, I could imagine living here for a long, long time. Maybe not forever, but for a while. A warm cabin, a town with one grocer’s, some neighboring cows. Jon. Not a bad combination at all.

Not a bad place to make a life.

Day 14

So I had to explain asexuality to Jon yesterday.

Okay, I realize how that sounds. It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’d better start at the beginning.

Last night, right before we were about to go to bed, Jon sits me on the sofa and says he’s got something important to tell me. And he seems really nervous, so of course I get nervous too. I’m thinking, oh god, there’s unfinished business at the Institute and we need to go back. Jonah is on a murder spree. There’s an avatar on the loose and they’re trying to find us. I’m just sitting there, making all these wild, terrifying assumptions.

And then Jon says, “I don’t want to have sex with you.” Like it’s the end of the goddamn world. I almost laughed, but I managed not to, thank goodness. Jon starts with this long explanation, how he wasn’t sure when I’d bring it up so he wanted to say something first (I guess 5 days after the first kiss is the proper time to bring up this sort of thing), and all I can think is, that’s it?? You got me all worked up for that? But it really did seem like a big deal to him, so I sat politely and listened.

Until he started really rambling, sort of going into a bit of a spiral, you know how he does, and then I had to stop him. Jon, I told him, it’s okay, I’m ace too, I get it, you’re fine! And he goes, you’re what? And I go, I’m ace. Asexual. And he’s looking at me like I’ve grown two heads, and all at once I realize, oh my god, he doesn’t know the word for it.

It was that moment when I sort of fell in love with him a little bit more. I don’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was just the thought of Jon going about his life for 30 years, knowing this thing about himself, navigating past relationships with this aspect of himself, and never knowing he wasn’t alone in it. I was, what, 19 or 20 when I learned what asexuality was? And that was because I was researching it, trying to figure out if I was the only one who wasn’t all that interested in having sex. I still remember how relieved I felt when I saw there was a word for it, that there were others who were just like me out there.

Jon’s never had that kind of support network. He did this for a decade, not knowing it wasn’t just him. And he still had the strength to say something to me, head held high, unashamed. Nervous, but not ashamed.

Yeah, that got to me a little bit. I had to stop myself from kissing him, because you know, time and place, Martin.

Instead I explained to him what the word meant, and that there’s this big spectrum, etc etc, and about being sex-neutral and what that’s like for me. He was listening really intently, I could tell, because his face got all scrunched up and adorable, the way it does when he’s really concentrating.

After a while, he started to ask questions, and I could tell he was trying to sort of figure out where he sat on the spectrum. He settled on ace and sex-repulsed, and I could tell he was really glad to have those words in his vocabulary. He was smiling all big and beautiful and kept saying things like “I had no idea.”

It felt really good, to be able to give those words to him, after so long. And it’s amazing that we have this in common too, along with the trans thing. That’s when I kissed him, by the way, on the back of the hand. Seemed appropriate. And then we went to bed, and I could tell that Jon had been holding himself back since we got here, because he turned into an absolute cuddle bug almost immediately. He seemed so much more comfortable and relaxed. Thank god one of us said something, because if there’s anyone who deserves some relaxation, it’s our resident archivist.

Well. My resident archivist.

Day 15 (16? It’s 3am, so I guess that makes it 16.)

Bad night tonight. Had a nightmare. Couldn’t get back to sleep. It was about mum, of course. It’s still pretty fresh in my mind. I was in this big empty house that wasn’t anything like our old flat, and I could hear her calling me. I remember she sounded angry. I was running all over the house trying to find her, but I couldn’t, and her calls kept getting fainter and fainter no matter which direction I went. It was more sad than scary, I guess, but I woke up all sweaty and disoriented anyway.

I’m writing this in the kitchen so I don’t wake up Jon. I just needed to get this out on paper so I wasn’t turning it over in my head for the rest of the night. Writing things out always helps me stop thinking about them, funny enough. It’s as though when I put words on the page they don’t have to live in my head anymore, making me anxious or afraid. They live on the paper now, and I don’t have to read them again if I don’t want to.

That’s partly why I started writing poetry, way back when I was a teenager. I started journaling a bit later on when I realized that sometimes metaphors can only get you so far. It’s nice to be journaling again. Aside from being a great time-killer, it’s really helping me sort through everything that’s been going on with J

Okay, that was spooky. Jon just came into the kitchen as I was writing his name. Beholding avatars, am I right? I guess I must have woken him up after all, because he was basically still half-asleep. His hair was all stuck up on one side of his head, he could barely open his eyes, no binder, his glasses were off. It was all very adorable. He wanted to know if I was alright. He seemed pretty concerned, and I think he could tell I’d had a nightmare. I said I’m fine, go back to sleep, etc etc. Then Jon sort of leaned over the chair behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and stuck his face in my hair. He said something, I think it was “good night” but of course it was all muffled. And then he gave me the biggest, messiest kiss on the cheek I’ve gotten from him yet. Guess I’ll have to catch Jon in the middle of the night more often.

Alright, back to bed now. I think I’ve gotten all the leftover nightmare jitters out of my system. And besides, I’ve got warm blankets and a warm archivist waiting for me.

Day 17

Jon finally made bread today. Or I suppose I should say we made bread, because he taught me how and I was able to make a loaf myself. It’s not hard at all, actually. The worst part is kneading the dough, which can take a while to do properly. And it’s tiring. Pretty sure that’s the first proper workout my arms have gotten . . . ever. And to think I could have been making bread this whole time instead of worrying about spending too much on a gym membership.

Jon did say I was a natural at kneading, though, and I’m pretty sure I caught him staring at my arms at one point. Should have flexed a few muscles at him, really given him a show of what he’s signed up for. Maybe next time. God, it feels good to just be able to flirt with Jon if I want to, though. It’s just so normal. We can have this small, normal thing, after all this time.

The bread came out great, by the way. You couldn’t even tell the difference between mine and Jon’s. Homemade bread is delicious—all warm and fluffy, nothing at all like store-bought. You can just eat it plain, no butter or sandwich ingredients or anything, and it’s like a meal on its own. Jon insisted I try it with this fancy blackberry jam he bought, which was good, but honestly the bread didn’t need it.

Jon’s going to freeze one of the loaves so it doesn’t go stale while we finish the other one. I’m just hoping we’ll be here long enough that we’ll actually get a chance to thaw it out.

And oh yeah, I should mention, Jon dropped the big L-word today. About me. To my face. While I was kneading dough. Like it was nothing. Just, “I love you,” right out of the blue. I’m starting to sense a pattern with this man.

I don’t think he even realized what a big deal it was. He said it like you’d say “It’s a nice day out.” Not that he was trivializing it or anything. It just seemed like from his perspective, he was just stating a fact. Something that didn’t require any kind of explanation, because it was just a very simple, true thing, all by itself.

I don’t really remember how I reacted. I didn’t say anything back. I don’t think he was really expecting me to. Like I said, to him it was a fact, not a call and response.

Honestly I don’t think I’m ready to say those words back yet. They carry a lot of weight, you know? And I’m glad to have them from Jon, but I’m not as certain about using them.

I really don’t think he minds, though. We curled up together on the sofa after dinner, which has become routine for us this past week or so, and he didn’t bring it up or seem disappointed in any way. Just cuddled up to me like normal, elbows and all.

It’s only just starting to hit me that I don’t have to worry about Jon leaving, or about having to leave myself, anymore. Neither of us are going anywhere. Jon isn’t going to be taken away from me. I’m not going to disappear again.

We’re going to be okay. And if we’re not, at least we’re going to be together.

Day 19

We made another grocery trip today. We didn’t need to. We’re pretty well stocked right now, but Jon needed to get out of the house for a bit.

This morning he was restless, just pacing around the cabin, wandering from the bed to the sofa to the kitchen table, sitting down without really settling, and then getting back up again. I saw him pick up his book and set it down again 3 times in about 15 minutes. So I said hey, let’s go into town, I need to pick up a few things.

Which of course I didn’t, but Jon didn’t call me out. I’m pretty sure he was relieved to have an excuse to be anywhere but in the cabin. He relaxed as soon as we got on the road.

I waited until after we passed the field full of cows to ask him if he was alright. At first he said of course, everything’s fine, but a couple minutes later he said that he was getting restless without statements to read. He wasn’t starving, he said, just uncomfortable. He could ignore it, most of the time, but today had just been a bad day.

I know there’s nothing I can really do for him, not when it comes to this. He wouldn’t take a statement from me even if I wanted him to. But I wish I knew how to help him, you know? At least how to make him feel better.

I did buy him some chocolate-covered pretzels at the grocer’s, which I have a really faint memory of him mentioning he likes. I managed to sneak them by him at the register so they’d be a surprise. And I held his hand on the way home, which I think he appreciated.

He definitely appreciated the pretzels. His face just lit up when he saw them at the bottom of the bag. I could tell he was kind of shocked that I remembered, or maybe just that I’d bothered to buy them at all. And I realized that it’s probably been ages since anyone’s just given Jon a gift. Not even something elaborate, or a birthday present or anything like that, but anything at all. Just thinking about it again, hours later, my heart aches a bit.

I mean, I know that I’m a part of that. I’m not completely blameless. I abandoned him too. Yes, it was for the greater good, it was to help Jon in the end, etc etc, but I’ll still never be able to really make up for all that lost time. Jon reached out to me so many times and I always pulled away. And part of it was the Lonely, yes, and the goal I was working towards. But part of it was me.

It was just so much easier, to let go and to not care and to not listen when Jon asked me if I was okay or looked at me the way he did. It would hurt too much, otherwise.

It was easy to care today, though. It was easy to hold Jon’s hand. And it did hurt to see Jon smile at that bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, but in a good way. Like a wound finally starting to heal.

Day 21

I know I wrote in here earlier that I could imagine making a life here, but I’m starting to think I actually, really could. I know it’s only been 3 weeks, and maybe my brain is just in some kind of weird vacation mode, but it’s just so comfortable here. Not necessarily the cabin itself, which isn’t really ours, and isn’t really meant for long-term use. I mean the Highlands themselves, and the tiny town nearby, and the idea of having a home here, of any kind. The way the sun comes through the curtains in the morning, the way clouds will drift over the hills like they’re a part of the sky, the way the night sky fills with more stars than I’d ever thought you could see from earth. It all feels right.

The world is so, so quiet here, but not in a lonely way. There’s so much life here, insects and birds and growing things and, yes, cows. But everything here is quieter, and softer, than it ever was in London.

Someday, when all of this is over, I’m going to come back here. I’m going to find a house, a real house, not a cabin or a flat, and I’m going to live there. I’m bringing Jon with me, of course. If he wants to come. Not a huge “if,” but maybe he doesn’t like the Highlands as much as I do. Maybe he’d rather live by the shore, like where he grew up.

Alright then, Jon, we’ll live by the shore. We’ll find a great big house up here in the Highlands, on top of a cliff overlooking the sea. There’s probably a place like that that exists somewhere, and if there isn’t, we’ll make one. We’ll find a spot with just the right amount of hills and shore for both of us, and we’ll build a house there. Money will be no object. We’ll fill it with comfortable furniture, and we’ll hang paintings on the walls, and there’ll be bookshelves filled with novels and poetry and no bloody statements at all. And there’ll be a great big lovely kitchen with windows where I’ll bake bread and you can make curry, and a tiny dining table with two chairs where we’ll eat every meal together. And I know you like cats, so we’d get at least 2 of them. If you really wanted we could have 3 or 4, but I draw the line at 5. And we’ll have one of those giant bay windows with a reading nook like they have in movies, and we’ll sit there and read together, or drink tea, or just talk. And it’ll be a sturdy, secure house, where nothing can hurt us and no one will come through the door unless invited. It’ll be a warm home. We’ll make it that way.

There. Now it’s all down on paper. Someday I’ll show this entry to Jon, and if it all sounds good to him, we’ll start making plans.

Day 23

We got a package delivered this morning, a taped-up cardboard box from Basira filled with, drumroll, statements for Jon. I guess she was finally able to get ahold of some and send them our way. No idea how decent the post is all the way out here but hopefully it won’t be another 3 whole weeks before we get more.

Jon says these should tide him over fine for the next few weeks, though. He says he’s going to ration them out, do one per day, which should be fine even though they’re old and not as nutritious, I guess? I didn’t really want to ask him to elaborate on all that stuff. I told Jon he could do his thing with the tape recorder when I wasn’t around, and he just laughed and said sure. So the box is staying shut until I go out for a walk later this afternoon, which I guess will have to start being a regular thing, now.

It’s nice and sunny out again today, really gorgeous, so a walk is actually a good idea. Sunny days out here are almost as rare as they are in London, so you’ve got to enjoy them while they last. Jon and I ate lunch out on the porch again, and we finished the last of the bread loaf we made. Guess we’ll be thawing out the second one after all. It’s a bit silly, but I’m really, really glad that it won’t be going to waste. Something like that, that was made with love, should get to be enjoyed.

Oh, and there was something else. Jon was up before me this morning. It must’ve been really early for him, usually I’m up around 8 and he wanders into the kitchen around 10, 9 if I’m lucky. But this morning I woke up to an empty bed, which actually didn’t bother me. I think I was too sleepy to mind. When I came into the kitchen Jon was already at the table, staring out the window, like I usually am when he gets up. The yellow light of the sunrise was shining all along his right side, and it made him look so warm.

He’d made tea, for the both of us. Two steaming mugs of English Breakfast, one in front of him, and one in front of my chair, waiting for me.

I’ve no idea why that got to me. I could’ve cried in that moment, just out of happiness, I really could. But I didn’t want to freak Jon out so I swallowed my tears and sat down and smiled at him. And he looked away from the window and smiled back at me. And he reached across the table and took my hand. And we sat like that for almost an hour and slowly drank our tea, and we didn’t have to say anything at all.

So, yeah. I’ve a feeling that today’s going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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